Books are among the things I need to winnow out in this down-sizing project. So a couple of days ago I made a pilgrimage to Powells with three boxes of books I hoped they’d want.
The door to the book-buying room is on a very busy corner and it’s not always possible to park close by, so my son met me at the door and hauled the boxes in while I went to park.
He also helped me unload the boxes onto the counter for the buyer to view. This was a mistake, because I had included some children’s books in the collection. Every few books, he’d grab one with a little cry of delight and place it back in the box:
“Oh, The Woodland Folk! I loved that book. You can’t get rid of that!”
“Hey, Wembley’s Egg! Give me that!”
“Wait a minute! Why Cats Paint!”
This is my very manly 25-year-old son talking, not a nine-year-old. Sigh.
Nevertheless Powell’s bought about half of what I brought and gave me a decent amount of money for them. Immediately we got lost in the aisles, and the money would have gotten spent in a trice if we hadn’t had to be someplace else.
As book-lovers (as well as book-sellers) we both agreed that a it would be heavenly just to spend the entire day at Powells, getting lost in the stacks.